Dances
by madgreek
Summary: House must attend an annual Plainsboro awards dinner. How does the doc entertain himself in this brief interlude?


There were two things that mattered most to House, and one of them fit in the palm of his hand. Throwing his head back, he tossed the pill into his mouth, chasing it with a glass of champagne. The pain wasn't in his leg this time. He had a headache the size of Taub's forehead, and the slightest desire to tell Cuddy she looked dazzling.

The way the ballroom chandelier danced above her perfect form, the lights flickering over her dark curls. He could barely contain his cynicism on such an evening, though the pianist could use a few lessons in subtleties.

Princeton Plainboro's annual employee appreciation dinner, the glittering charade House had avoided in times past with subdued annoyance. He preferred sitting at home to a television full of possibility as opposed to listening to these boring and predictable speeches. But he had promised Cuddy, in exchange for a brand new Sony flatscreen, that he would make an appearance this year.

It was the first time in a while that he had seen her fully a woman, and not a tired, over-worked mother. The sight was pleasing, if not on some level, unnerving. He watched her from the corner of his eye, and then stared down at his empty glass. She was dancing with Wilson, and if he hadn't taken two Vicodin an hour ago he might've cared more. Indeed, an hour ago his leg had been excruciatingly painful, and the thought of dancing made it throb from his groin to his knee. He winced and turned on his stool so that he would have a better view of a beautiful blonde from ICU.

"Something else, sir?" said the bartender, interrupting House's scrutinizing.

"A new leg."

"Excuse me? I didn't hear…"

"What's in the keg?" House stood up before the man could answer. Air, he needed air, and an escape. He limped his way toward the terrace that had been abandoned ever since the music began. Slipping outside, he relished in the quiet evening, and the bright innocence of the moon. At least one good thing had come of his obedience to his boss the harpy.

Pulling a bottle of gin from underneath his coat, he twisted the cap off. The alcohol burned his throat but it was a satisfying burn. Hanging his cane on the balcony lattice, he threw his right leg over and took a seat next to it. He'd never been one for celebrations where people's egos were given first class treatment, where the man cheating on his wife and wearing a toupee had more to say about family hygiene than the single mom working a fulltime job.

House took another swig as clapping ensued from inside the hotel ballroom. The music had stopped, thank God, and it seemed Cuddy was delivering an elegant opener to the night's award ceremonies. As much as the woman got under his nerves and made him savor every snide remark he could think to throw at her, there was something about her that wouldn't let go of him. He hated the fact that he felt out of control when she was around, even now thirty yards out of sight.

A footstep behind him jerked House back to reality. Wilson in his ridiculous white suit. He looked like a cars salesman just out of the 50's.

"Why are you making yourself miserable? Go home, House. I'm not going to carry you this time."

"The deal was until midnight. I have to prove to Cuddy that I can be a sociable ass kisser. Besides, I'm hoping to get a big pat on the back for all my hard work in the clinic this year. All those cheerleaders needed my help…Dr's Freckles and Stutters couldn't find the time."

Wilson walked to the lattice and leaned against it, taking the gin bottle from House. "You didn't page me?"

"You would've scared the girls, all your talk of getting well, and I can fix you. Hospitals are about making the patient think you have absolute control, whether you tell them they will die or live."

"Right. That's why most of the time you're pleading with Cuddy for a brain autopsy before the patient is dead. You like to think you have control. It makes you able to deal with your lack of it. And you attempt to exact it from idiots who don't know a thing about the human body."

House rolled his eyes, stealing the gin back. "You seemed to be vying for control of Cuddy's body in _there_."

"I think you're jealous. You've tried everything except asking her like any normal human being if maybe she would like to go out for dinner. And when I ask her to dance, you get angry. We're friends. She needs a mature response to the uncertainties of motherhood."

"Aha! That little bundle of joy will be gone before you know it. Cuddy is like the fat lady who never stopped singing. She thinks if she keeps going her pitiful dream won't end. She's liable to have a heart attack."

"I can't imagine why she doesn't talk to you about being a mother. Try being a little understanding, as uncharacteristic as that may be. I'm pretty sure you'll still get a front row seat in Hell."

"Understanding of her pathetic loneliness? She's going to torture this kid to satisfy her own needs. She's never had a relationship last longer than a really tough diagnostic. What makes her think a baby will be any easier?"

"Why does that sound like someone else I know?" Wilson stood again, sighing. "I'm going to go enjoy the party. Something even you could do, I think if you tried."

"I am trying," said House, tipping the bottle up. "Nothing like seeing double of Cuddy's unsinkable breasts."

Wilson stepped through the hotel doors. "Grow up, House. You might find that the world's not so scary and evil."

"I'm evil!" House watched Wilson disappear without another word. _I'm evil?_ He was getting drunk. His intelligence had been reduced to only slightly genius.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. The night she had lost Joy, he'd been there, hadn't he? But he had screwed it up by kissing her. Cuddy needed someone more stable, more of a pushover like Wilson. House had contacted her mother, _her mother_, and had her desk from med school put in her office. She hadn't said a word about it. Still, could he blame her? There was too much baggage between them.

Another footstep rang in his ears. A woman's. He felt his throat go dry.

"This wasn't part of the deal." Cuddy stood with her hands on her hips, a black silk dress barely covering the milk of her skin. Her green eyes searched his from across the promenade. Then he lowered his head.

"I was so moved by your speech that I didn't want anyone to see me cry."

Cuddy walked over to House and jerked the gin from his hands. "The deal was you have to at least act like a gentleman. I let you out of making an ass of yourself on stage. But it looks like you beat me to the punch line. I know you, if you go back in there you're going to say a lot of things I'll regret."

He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "If I go back in there it'll be because I'm leaving with that redhead…oh what's her name. You know the one who thinks serenades are a kind of mixed drink? She's actually not very good at talking at all. Huh…I wonder what we'd do…"

Cuddy glared at him. "You're drunk. Get your act together or that TV will drop another ten inches."

"Another?" It was all he could manage with her standing so close to him, his senses whacked out of order by her subtle perfume. He could almost taste it, and there was something in her eyes, something he'd seen before. Out of habit, he rubbed his scarred leg.

"I'll have them bring you some coffee." Cuddy turned to leave but before she was out of reach, House grabbed her arm.

"Could you leave the bottle?"

For a long moment she was silent, knowing it was virtually impossible to get through to a sober House.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I ruin mommy's little party?"

Infuriated, Cuddy broke the barrier of personal space, her nose inches from his. "Why do you always feel the need to sabotage any enjoyment I might get out of a decent thing? Why can't you leave me out of your misery?"

She smelled like champagne with a hint of strawberry. House couldn't help but stare at her parted lips. "Why do you let me? It was _you_ who bribed me to this pathetic excuse of an attempt to relive your prom. Only people who hope unrealistically are disappointed. You're still hoping I might change, I might be more than what I am. Why?"

Cuddy blushed. "I don't hope for anything where you're concerned. You're the one making this about me when who we're really talking about is you. But you're so afraid to ever talk about what's really going on inside…"

House couldn't recall whether it was a slight spinning of the sky, the toxins of the gin running their course, or a shift to ease his throbbing leg. But without the limitations of his brilliant mind, he drove his lips down upon Cuddy's. She did not resist, and he soon found her tongue with his own, one gin bottle crashing to the ground. Her deep breaths replaced the pain in his leg with something more.

Damn the gin. He hoped he wasn't too sloppy because this woman needed to be kissed well. And this time he wasn't letting go so easily. He wished he had more self control but at the moment all rationale seemed to have left him for the dance floor. Sliding a hand to the back of her head, he searched every corner of her mouth, expecting at any moment she would walk away.

"I…should…really…" Cuddy managed between breaths. But her arms slid around his waste in no hurry to part from the warmth of his body.

House pushed himself off the lattice so that he was fully against her. And every curve, every muscle he felt through her thin dress. _Be a gentleman_, he told himself. He drew his head back so that he could look into her eyes, for some reason unafraid of what they would tell him. Cuddy gazed up at him longingly, vying for stable breaths. She raised two fingers to his chin, running them through the stubble.

"I forgot to shave my legs," said House.

This time Cuddy drew her lips to meet his, teasing him with gentle nibbles. He slid a hand around her back, pulling her closer to him. Then, when he could stand it no more, he moved his mouth down to her neck, circling around to her ear. She clutched him tightly, moaning just enough to encourage him.

Clapping ensued from within the ballroom, reminding Cuddy of her responsibility to the evening. Inevitably drawn back to reality, she put a hand on his chest. "I have to get back."

House felt his stomach sink. For a moment, he allowed his face to linger in her hair. Tomorrow things would go back to normal. They would fight, someone would walk away hurt and it would be business as usual.

"If you want, you can sleep over tonight," whispered Cuddy.

"I _was_ thinking about waxing my cane…"

She laughed, the way he liked. "I wouldn't want to come between you two."

"He's not the jealous sort." House slowly moved his lips across her cheek. Then he kissed her once more, gently, and long. Maybe the gin had been one of his more brilliant plans.

"I think he is." Cuddy stepped away, still feeling the place where House's hand had rested on her back. "I think it's better if I drive."

"I'm better when I'm drunk."

"We'll see, won't we?"


End file.
